September 25, 2019

Autumn has arrived, it’s in the air—and in the enormous scattering of leaves on my porch, porch steps and sidewalk. We have a walnut tree at the north west corner of the house, and it is always the last tree to get its leaves, and the first to lose them.

Once the walnuts have formed, its as if the tree says, “there, my job is done. Time to go back to sleep.” The tree has grown a great deal since we’ve been in this house. The first decade or so of our years here saw us spending a lot of time, in good weather, out on that porch, reading and chatting.

I read somewhere years ago that living plants and trees benefited from human conversation. I’m still fanciful enough to believe our presence and discussions encouraged that tree to grow.

For the last few years, our youngest grandson came weekly to cut our lawn, but last spring he moved to a town about a half hour from here. He lives with his sister and her fiancé, and they are getting along like best friends! That is such a joy, as they were forever at each other when they were little. He has a car now, but he also has a part time job that he worked all summer and has maintained now that he’s back to school.

 A half hour’s drive each way was, we believed, too much to ask of him. Therefore, this past summer, the girl next door has been coming over each week to cut our grass. She does a very good job, and we’re all pleased. Fall inevitably brings with it outside jobs to be done, so we’re hoping the grandsons can be corralled into helping a couple of times. Though we are now a household of three, not a one of us should be climbing on ladders with leaf blowers in order to clean the gutters.

Monday afternoon brought an unexpected treat. As much as I don’t look forward to the chilly weather of fall, generally speaking, I was delighted that a cool, fresh breeze sprang up. My daughter and I opened both doors, as the one thing I really love is airing out the house. Both doors have to be soundly propped open, so neither one may slam shut as a result of that cleansing breeze.

Not long after opening the doors, the clouds rolled in and burst open. We closed the back door momentarily—the front was protected by the porch. It didn’t last long, and when it was done the scent of fresh rain perfumed the air. We re-opened the back door so we could capture all that clean freshness. That morning and a few days before had been humid and close. This was crisp and clean. According to the weather network, we’re in for a mini heat wave the first couple of days of October. I’ve also read our winter may be colder than normal.

In this part of the world, it’s probably a good idea, weather-wise, to live in the moment.

We have ceiling fans in our living room, kitchen, and in my office. Wonderful devices, those fans. Our thermostat, likewise, is amazing. To go from heat to central air and back again—something that yes, I have done this month—is a simple matter via use of a touch-screen. I recall years past when, once the decision was made to light the furnace, that was that. Of course, we never had central air, so fans were most welcome and well used.

I much prefer the ease of comfort we have now. Too much cool isn’t merely uncomfortable for me. It comes and leaves aching joints as a memento.

I do miss all the canning we used to do. Making dill pickles, green relish, and chili sauce were good fall activities. I made bread and butter pickles a few times but that was quite a bit of work. August usually witnessed a spate of jam making. Strawberry would be the first, and then blueberry, peach and sometimes even cherry. I’ve done none of that this year at all. Everything depends on these capricious joints of mine. What a pain! And yes, pardon the pun.

I’m still working on me, and my attitude. I really wish I was one of those spry sixty-five-year-old women who is active and vital with boundless energy. I’m not. My biggest challenge is to understand there some things I can change, and some I can’t. I know it’s a question of mind over matter. You know that pun, I’m sure.

If you don’t mind, then it really doesn’t matter.

Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury